A mist-squall surged. It was not a violent, ripping gale, but a cold, dense churn of the Perpetual Veil, biting deep with an icy tendril touch. The vapor coiled and whipped, stinging exposed skin, yet Kaelen felt no true chill. His very being pulsed with the mist, an extension of its ethereal breath. It felt like his own body now. Though his control stretched only so far, it was enough to form a personal eddy, a pocket of calm against the squall’s relentless press.
His ancient robe, crafted from the resilient membrane of a fallen Gloom Lurker, shrugged off the cold. Lightweight and impossibly thin, it held warmth within, a silent shield against the biting chill. He had sewn it himself, stitching the remnants of his recent, agonizing transformation into something practical.
Such practicalities conserved his strength.
Veridian walked ahead, a stoic silhouette against the swirling grey. Kaelen watched the elder’s back, a familiar, unyielding shape. All around them, the world was a canvas of moving vapor, features blurring, then reforming. There were no crags or ancient ruins, no landmarks to mark their passage, only the endless, undulating grey. Standing amidst Aethel’s vastness, Kaelen felt the true insignificance of any lone human.
Veridian moved without rest, without a backward glance, always forward. Without a clear purpose, no one could navigate the Veil’s deceptions so unerringly. Only those driven by an absolute conviction could march like that, straight as a spear-point.
Days had passed since Kaelen had consumed the Gloom Lurker’s essence. Days of silent travel, broken only by the whispers of the Veil. Veridian spoke little, and never of his goals or the past. When the dim sun dipped below the mist-line and they paused to rest, he would always place a dark, smooth stone before him – the Whisperstone – and converse with it.
Kaelen had initially thought it the ramblings of a man lost to the Veil’s madness. Talking to a stone held no logic. He knew of ancient artifacts said to hold consciousness, but believed true ones were rarer than clearings in Aethel. So, he hadn’t believed Veridian’s stone was such a thing.
Yet, the ritual repeated daily. Veridian truly conversed. In the quiet solitude of their camp, his stern face softened as he communed with the Whisperstone. Occasionally, ancient eyes would gleam with profound, unspoken emotion. But with the pale dawn, and the renewed march, that fierce, unyielding look returned.
Those eyes harbored an immense rage, a madness that seemed capable of tearing apart the very Veil itself. Kaelen did not know what fueled Veridian’s intensity, but today, he was once again pushing forward, cutting a path through the biting mist-squall.
Chewing on a strip of cured Lurker-meat, Kaelen followed. Since consuming the creature’s essence, his body felt transformed. All residual weariness had vanished, replaced by a lean, enduring strength. He walked for hours, unaware of the arduous trek, the ceaseless pressure of the Veil.
If not for Veridian, Kaelen would never have known of the Gloom Lurker’s potent effects. *Who is he? What circumstances drive him to cross this desolation alone? And why am I tagging along?* Questions echoed in Kaelen’s mind, like distant calls through the mist.
The simplest way to satisfy his curiosity would be to ask. But the feasibility of that was almost non-existent.
*Nothing about this path is straightforward.* He swallowed the jerky, his throat dry despite the dampness of the Veil. Reaching into his robe, he drew out a leather pouch, also made from the resilient Lurker-hide. Lightweight and flexible, it held a surprising amount of precious water.
He had filled it at the last ephemeral clearing they had found. He drank sparingly, only when absolutely necessary, a single sip enough to quench the thirst that now felt like a distant memory.
Securing the pouch to his belt, a subtle tremor reached Kaelen’s enhanced senses. It vibrated not just through his feet on the damp earth, but through the very mist surrounding them.
He focused. Ten distinct presences, deep within the Veil, moving towards them. From all sides. Within a sphere roughly ten meters from Kaelen, the movements were undeniable. His perception had extended, sharpened. But this was no time for revelry.
This was time for readiness.
The creatures moved slowly, methodically, tightening an unseen noose, preparing to burst forth. Their bodies were sheathed in glistening, chitinous plates, pincers split like crude blades, six legs scuttling, and a pair of sensing antennae. They were like gargantuan ants, but far larger than any human.
They were called Veil-Hunters. They moved in packs, like ancient predators, reflecting their ferocity. In the obscured world of Aethel, Veil-Hunters posed a grave threat to any traveler. Once a single Hunter appeared, it was a grim certainty a nest, a mist-warren, lay nearby.
Such warrens housed hundreds, if not thousands, of the creatures. They would drag prey back, feeding the queen and the nascent larvae. What made Veil-Hunters truly fearsome was the paralyzing mist-venom they injected. The horror of it was that while the body became utterly immobile, the mind remained acutely aware.
Those stung by Veil-Hunters were forced to endure the sensation of being slowly consumed, every nerve awake. Kaelen had heard the hushed tales in scattered settlements. The moment he sensed them, he knew their terrifying identity.
One Veil-Hunter emerged from the mist, mandibles clacking, its dark eyes reflecting the diffused light. Kaelen remained unperturbed. He unleashed a Veil Lance. Five jets of condensed mist, sharp as needles, surged towards the creature’s head. It staggered, but unlike the soft flesh of the Gloom Lurker, its head remained intact.
Their titanium-like chitin offered formidable protection. This was a terrifying aspect of Veil-Hunters—their ability to repel most direct attacks. Their defense was so potent that attacks from even experienced mist-weavers hardly affected them. That’s why many would choose flight over confrontation.
Unaware of this, Kaelen continued his assault. Enraged by the blasts, the Veil-Hunter charged with even fiercer determination. Kaelen moved back, continuously unleashing Veil Lances. The concentrated blasts struck its head, again and again. Yet it still stood.
Kaelen knew this wasn’t working. Quickly, he stepped back, shifting his focus. He targeted a single Veil-Hunter, channeling his full power. Finally, with a sickening crack, the targeted creature’s head exploded in a spray of ichor and mist-infused carapace shards.
Kaelen clenched his fist, unleashing Veil Lances in rapid succession. With each eruption of mist, another Veil-Hunter’s head burst like a foul bloom in the grey. Traveling with Veridian, his power had surged, allowing him to bridge the gap in their defenses.
Confidence bloomed within him. But it was short-lived.
Suddenly, one of the remaining Veil-Hunters emitted a bizarre, high-frequency chitter, a sound like grinding stone and terrified desperation. Kaelen launched a Veil Lance at its head. It too shattered. Now, only three remained.
He needed to finish this, catch up to Veridian. That’s when the unexpected occurred. Numerous presences, a wave of them, approached. Startled, before Kaelen could react, dozens of Veil-Hunters burst from the ground, mandibles snapping. Their numbers exceeded a hundred. Kaelen stared, astonished by the sheer volume.
Only now did he realize the high-frequency chitter had been a rallying call. They closed in, surrounding him completely. The Veil-Hunters emitted a cacophony of eerie clicks and hisses, a sound that exploded into the air. They swiftly charged.
Kaelen moved, a blur of motion with Veil Glide, narrowly evading their attacks. In a hair’s breadth escape, he dodged the pincers of one, unleashing a Veil Lance at its head. He found himself showered in the creature’s viscous fluids and shattered chitin.
Seeing this, the others attacked with even more ferocity. Kaelen fought back, a primal cry tearing from his throat, matching the clicking onslaught.
In the thick of battle, Kaelen’s gaze flickered to an elevated ridge of compressed mist, a temporary formation. Veridian sat there, still and silent, the Whisperstone held loosely in his lap. He observed the struggle, Kaelen against the unending wave.
“Veil-Hunters have a habit of swarming when one of their kind is attacked,” Veridian murmured to the stone, his voice a low rumble. “One should never assume the initial attackers are all there are.” Even now, as Kaelen fought, the chitters echoed, calling for more. Soon, the rest would arrive. Indeed, Veridian felt the tremor of a vast swarm, rapidly approaching. A mist-warren nearby, immense and ancient.
Kaelen exerted all his strength, unleashing Veil Lances. Each blast caused a head to explode, a temporary victory against the overwhelming tide. “It’s not enough. It’s far from sufficient.” Veridian’s words were for the stone, but they carried the weight of ancient disappointment.
Kaelen had awakened a rare ability, a profound connection to the Veil – a blessing unparalleled in this world. Yet, he failed to realize the true extent of his potential, how deep its utility could reach. Such things had to be forged through personal experience.
Civilization judged an Awakened’s strength by their designations. Whether they belonged to the Veil-shapers, the Essence-weavers, weaker than the lowest ranks, and so forth—the Archons being the pinnacle. Merely appearing that way dictated the hierarchy, determined one’s perceived potential. When Awakened individuals acquired skills, they were guided not to realize their own utility or growth, but pushed towards a standardized, safe path of development. Thus, they couldn’t fully utilize their power. One had to collide with adversity, cross the boundaries of life and death, realize their shortcomings, and then ponder on how to fill those gaps. That, according to Veridian, was the correct path for growth. But the powerful figures in the few surviving settlements disagreed.
Veridian’s approach took too much time. It wasn’t efficient enough. Hence, the influential figures looked down on him. “You hard-headed idiots! So engrossed in power struggles you don’t even realize the state this world is in.”
One hundred years had passed since the Great Cataclysm. Most survivors perished, only scattered remnants endured. Veridian was one of the very few who remembered the true horrors of that time. He had witnessed firsthand how the cataclysm began, how many suffered and perished in despair. While civilization crumbled overnight, the transmogrified creatures of the Veil ravaged the earth. No one knew the immense anger he felt as he helplessly watched his family and friends become mere prey, fading into the eternal mist. Fortunately, awakening his own power and surviving until this moment, Veridian never once forgot the horrors.
Some told Veridian to forgive himself. How could he? Even after a hundred years, he couldn’t forgive himself for watching helplessly as his family died. While he called everyone else an idiot, in truth, the biggest idiot was himself.
With a mad gleam in his eyes, Veridian watched Kaelen. Kaelen engaged in a fierce battle with the Veil-Hunters—dodging with Veil Glide, attacking with Veil Lances. A standardized approach. Kaelen might believe it was his best, but he hadn’t reached Veridian’s expectations yet. “Prove your worth by surviving on your own, you fool!”
The Veil-Hunters surged, a chitinous wave. Kaelen’s breath hitched, the raw scream still rattling in his chest. His Veil Lances exploded against their armor, a futile, desperate light in the encroaching darkness of the swarm.
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